


mirage

by jxneun



Category: Digimon - All Media Types, Digimon Adventure, Digimon Adventure tri.
Genre: AU, Angst, M/M, Mentions of Sex, only mentions though nothing explicit, tw: PTSD, yamato’s band becomes v successful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:25:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23460139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jxneun/pseuds/jxneun
Summary: Pairing: Yamato/TaichiRating: Mature, sexual themes implied. Angst & Yamato-centric as per usual. Post-tri, so slight spoilers.One-shot AU where Yamato’s band becomes famous, and on his world tour, Yamato recalls his past relationship with Taichi. A love letter from Yamato to Taichi, with a dash of hope. tw: PTSDInspiration from “Mirage” by Elina.
Relationships: Ishida Yamato | Matt Ishida/Yagami Taichi | Tai Kamiya
Comments: 11
Kudos: 20





	mirage

** freckle colored shoulders **

** i can’t stand not having you **

** i come across as heartless even though my heart breaks every time you’re close **

* * *

Taichi,

You make me really happy.

With my lips upturned, wide, outstretched and my cheeks rosy, my tears brimming at the edge of my eyes, old stories that will stand the test of time at the tip of my tongue, and voice hoarse from laughing the night away, you made me realize that I was capable of love.

When I was broken, you were my crutch. When I thought I had initially lost you, during the fight with Piedmon and your body was lifeless on the ground, seeming so frail and vulnerable; I was terrified. When I thought I had lost you, when I could not find your body nor Nishijima’s body in the deep abyss, the cracks in my fortitude began to show, and I was so afraid. Afraid of being alone, I was afraid that my cowardice would show and manifest into anger, uncontrolled anger that would only reveal my deepest insecurities and fears of failure. The fear that I would be unable to uphold the expectations of the leader, the standards that you laid out, silently bearing the hidden pressures and agony that came with this sense of responsibility.

Your words and actions, albeit brash at times, healed me with time, the times that I wished we could go back to, the times where it was simply just you and me in the Digital World, along with the rest of the team and our Digimons.

How I wished that time would simply just come to a halt, only stopping when I’m with you. Maybe if I wasn't so temperamental, anxious, and depressing, maybe I could have been good enough? Maybe I could have dealt with my own issues without hurting you? Maybe I could have confronted my deep insecurities without lashing out on you and hurting you? Maybe I could have been there for you, to shoulder that burden, to offer support and comfort in times of need. Instead, I mess up and I add onto your pain, your sorrows which I see reflected in your caramel brown, shiny orbs, and in your wry half-smile. Your brows are furrowed, and instead of the creases to the edges of your eyes, I see the thin line across your mouth and clenched fists, before you take your leave. You don’t even bother storming off anymore, fueled by passion and concern; instead, you’ve decided you’ve had enough. 

Quite frankly, I’ve had enough as well. Caught up in my emotions, I still haven't gotten an answer. Perhaps, I didn't trust you enough, nor do I have closure midst this confusion.

How do you feel? What are you thinking?

Your blank stare which fills my vision, as a look I can't read, your tired eyes do not show the same glimmer of hope and intensity; I guess it has been reduced to a gaze that I’m second guessing myself and now thinking that I probably never have been able to truly understand you.

Are my actions confusing you? 

You’re confusing me; I don’t know what I can do to truly help you, and I don’t know what to do without hurting you even more. 

Maybe, you make me realize how undeserving I am of you, and you would be better off with another person who would treat you well. Someone who isn’t already burdened by this emotional baggage that I’ve carried for years, this sadness that has grown comforting and familiar. You deserve someone better, but I can’t help but reach for you, desperate and longing, and unhinged. I don’t want to lose our friendship more than anything, and I don’t blame you if you feel contempt towards me for acting selfishly, and for not communicating this to you.

I overthink every action, expression and tone, and I can’t control these thoughts, nor the inkling that I’m not ready. At the same time, with these feelings I have, I can’t help but harbor resentment. Resentment and frustrations that are mostly directed towards myself, those of which I do not have a healthy outlet.

I don't know what's going through my mind these days, but I know that I’m scared, and I miss you so much. I started smoking again, and I think of how you helped me quit, but now I’m reaching for these vices once again, these vices which help me feel alive... The roars of the crowd are silent, when compared to your voice, akin to a wind chime‘s soft jingle lost in the distance. Whether it be the sounds of your voice, when guiding the others, when you talk to yourself when you think no one’s looking, when you try to muffle your voice as I take you as my own, I lose sight of what’s before me. All fall on deaf ears, when I think of you.

I miss and long for your warmth, smile and laughter; I’m yearning to have even just for a second, your hands being intertwined with mine. I’m tempted to distract myself, so I don’t feel all of this.

Do you even notice that I’m gone? Are you in pain? Do you avoid me and do you hate me for what I’ve done?

It hurts knowing i'm not the one making you happy, with my dumb jokes and silly references, or making you blush shyly from the songs I’d write dedicated to you. It sucks that every time I’m alone in the room with you, it’s painfully awkward and my face is devoid of emotion to mask the utter desperation I feel. I want to protect you, but I’m only exacerbating the pain you carry. The times I’d hold small concerts for you in my bedroom, whether it be alone, singing lullabies when you couldn’t sleep at night, or when I’d hold you when you would have those recurring nightmares of what had happened when you were alone, and carried the weight of Nishijima’s death on your shoulders. Your freckled shoulders, those of which I adored and your toned flesh that I’d trace under my fingertips, were the sensations I’d think of, especially during the loneliest times I’d come to experience during this tour. The times I had hugged you for dear life, just to remind myself that you were alive and breathing, and that you were showing signs of progress for recovery.

I’d agonize over each meticulous bit, for the lyrics that I’d compose with the thought of my fingers in your brunette locks, and your hands clutching your comforter, with your sun kissed skin glistening under the soft glow of the moonlight. I reminisced over the heated make out sessions we would have, with your limbs tangled under mine, with your sheepish grin and doe eyes looking up at me, as if I was the best thing that had ever happened to you. I remembered the feeling of your skin against my own, with your soft sighs and unabashedly loud moans and squeaks as I’d take you and bring you to levels of pleasure you never experienced with anyone else. I reveled in the memories of you growing bolder, and becoming more willing to experiment, and being comfortable enough to let your guard down. I loved being the one you could trust, the one you would let take over and being the one who you wouldn’t have to put up the leader image in front of. I’d think of your arched back, as you’d scream for more, and demand my attention. I loved being able to take you through waves of heightened pleasure, reducing you to an incoherent mess, defiling you with my own hands. You were a lot shyer than most would believe, and we learned from one another, becoming more well-acquainted with our bodies and figuring our what we liked and didn’t like as much.

I thought of all the small moments that I truly cherished, the last moments that I didn’t know would be the last. The calm waters of the riverbed were perfect for the languid days we would spend under the sun, enjoying the soft rays of the sun and the cool water at our feet, and the short stops to the convenience store where we’d race to get snacks before studying were invaluable. 

Even on the worst of days, I’d try to feign a smile, or come up with a joke or two, just so that I could see your toothy grin. I desperately wished for your recovery, and I was willing to be patient. I stopped believing in God long ago, but seeing you paralyzed with fear, had me praying for your wellbeing, and for you to be okay, to feel a semblance of happiness once again and to not be plagued by the flashbacks you were so hesitant to talk about. 

Early on, when I had confessed to you, your expression filled with happiness and your tears threatening to fall reminded me of what it was like to experience pure joy. Out of all the times I recall, my mind lingers on the first time we held hands, my fingers interlocking with yours, and our reddening cheeks, with nervous laughter and sweaty palms. What I didn’t notice was your hesitation, and I only realized your contention when we had a string of fights which escalated into chaos. 

If I were to be honest, I’d admit that I’m a little bit jealous knowing others are making you make that distinct laughter, instead of me. I’m filled with bitter resentment, knowing that I’m not the one whose embrace could heal you from your past, and that I could never be enough to help you cope with your suffering. 

You made me so happy, but I could not help you amidst your misery.

Solitude used to be comfortable, but now it’s lonesome. Now, I can’t help but feel like a piece is missing from me, yet I’m too fucking scared to admit my regrets and mistakes. I’m too scared to burn you with my fire, the fire that’s gone awry and impossible to extinguish. Mirroring my indifferent expression, I catch a glimpse of a troubled boy, with emotional baggage and fears manifesting into anger. Even at the height of my musical career, I still embodied the image of my ten year-old self, playing the harmonica to ignore the anxious, overwhelming voices in my head. How utterly pathetic.

In the end, I, Yamato Ishida, was the one who messed up. As the former bearer of the Crest of Friendship, I had failed my own best friend, my former lover, but most importantly, I let down the man who was the center of my world. At the end of the day, I’m just a lovesick fool, whose not so pure intentions brought harm to you. To no surprise, I messed up, but I guess it comes in the family, after all.

Now, we can’t even be in the same room. Now, you won’t even look me in the eye. Now, I see how I should have worded things differently, and told you that I wasn’t ready because I was so deathly afraid of being unable to be there for you, for only stringing you along, and making you wait.

I loved you, but love isn’t like how it is in fairy tales. I’m not your knight in shining armor, nor are you some helpless damsel in distress, waiting for a prince to come along and rescue you from a heavily gated castle. I can’t save you when I need saving too.

At the same time, I can’t help but hopelessly wish for our own happily ever after. 

Tell me, how have you been doing? Taichi, are you happy? Do you feel regrets? Is it too late? Would you take me back, despite my selfishness? Despite my inability to communicate how I felt at the time, would you forgive me? Can I get you to fall in love with me once again, do I even deserve a second chance?

These questions circulate in my head, but I can’t ever fathom ever gaining the courage to ask, so instead, I hide behind this sheet of paper, in hopes that you read it and forgive me. I have a lot of questions, but one thing I know for sure is that I’m in love with you. I love you so much, and it’s taken me this long to realize it, but I don’t want to lose you. I want to make you happy, so will you please let me help rebuild what we had too?

-Yamato

* * *

taichi: yamato, are you busy? call me when you see this text. [8:05PM]

**Author's Note:**

> I’m in love with the idea of love, and Yamato and Taichi having a fully functioning relationship, but I think that Yamato carries a lot of pain, and would truly have a hard time in a relationship, given his trust issues and existing skepticism towards healthy relationships due to his parents’ divorce. Especially since this fic is centered on the idea that Yamato is on a world tour with the success of his band, this fuels his insecurities that he can’t be there for someone else, and that he’ll never measure up. I like to play with writing the aftermath of the situation in tri, because I feel like the way that Taichi was portrayed afterwards, was barely the silver lining. Of course, this might be a bit of a stretch and a little bit of projecting, but I think Yamato would be most terrified of hurting those truly cares about, and Taichi’s experience is not something that love can automatically heal.
> 
> As always, please let me know your feedback or any suggestions y’all have <3


End file.
